


shiver

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Frottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: Jon’s legs pressed to the backs of hers in a tangle beneath the heavy furs and as she shifted she could feel him follow, the unconscious movement bringing his hips after hers. It is awkward, the way sleep has brought his darkest desire to fruition, and yet he fits against her as nothing else ever has, the hand that curled against her waist only tightening. A barely there thrust followed, the movement making her utter a small gasp that seemed to rouse Jon from his sleep. A lengthy pause followed before Jon moved backward, muttering a curse under his breath as he separated himself from the tangle of her body.





	shiver

The darkness seemed to come from all sides, engulfing her so completely that even as she stumbled awake she could not rid herself of it. Her hands fumbled for the extinguished candlestick on her bed, the flint so sharp against her hand that it bit into her palm as she struggled to light it. The fireplace had burned low in its grate, illuminating the chamber in a dull red glow, so ominous that as she looked at the shadows that hid in every corner of the chamber she could not quell the beating of her heart and the nervousness that clawed at her belly.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and toed around for her boots, pulling them on one at a time. Her dressing gown was hanging on a hook beside the wardrobe and she laid it over her shoulders, clutching it around her frame as she slipped through the door. Her feet carried her as quickly as they could manage, her hands shaking as she held out her candlestick, the pool of golden light it pressed forward casting away the shadows of Winterfell’s unlit halls.  

In her dreams the faces so often changed that when she awoke she was not sure who she should fear most. Though the bruises had long ago faded and the cuts turned to scars, she could still feel their hands upon her, the memories so strong in her mind that she could almost feel them nestled in her bones.

The sky was black with night, the dark clouds that blocked the light of the half moon bringing cold snaps of wind and flurries of snow that made the long halls of the northern holdfast cold as though she were standing in the midst of the storm. It would be hours before morning dawned and the castle had not yet awoken, quiet enough to hear every moan of wind and creak of stone beneath her feet as they carried her forward. She turned the corners and descended the corridors, knowing where she was headed without pause, and before she had even awakened fully she found herself before the heavy mahogany door that separated her from him.

Without checking Sansa knew the door would not be bolted. He made a point of keeping it unlatched. He promised Sansa that if she had need of him, she would be able to reach him. She so often did in the middle of the night.

Ghost lifted his head, catching sight of the light from her candle, melting wax flowing into a pool in the silver basin. Sansa ran her fingers through the direwolf’s bristly gray hair, feeling the pad of his tongue drag across her ungloved fingers. She smiled softly and remembered sadly the wolf she had lost so long ago.

It had been hours since the fire had been stoked and the dying flames had long ago eaten away the logs in the hearth. The room was cast in a dull glow, Jon’s form illuminated with the shadows of the chamber as she looked back at him. With the opening of the door Jon had been pulled out of sleep. He sat up quickly, pushing back his furs and blinking back fatigue as he looked into the darkness. His brow was knit, his fingers twitching as they took hold of the blade beside his pillow.

“Jon.” she whispered, but he already knew.

Without question Jon parted the furs to allow her entry, the once cold concave of the bed seeming suddenly warm. In the darkness she leaned back to curl against his, aware of his breathing, aware of the fact that both remained awake yet neither spoke.

His arm moved to lie around her middle, vaguely feeling the unbound outline of her breasts. Across the weeks her hesitation had lessened before giving completely, as she reached for his hand she felt his scarred fingers twist between her own. It was a small gesture; it seemed to him, running his fingers across hers- yet it made him feel as though the weight that usually settled across his chest had dissipated.

It felt as thought it had taken hours for him to fall asleep the first time and yet as she lay in his arms it felt like mere seconds before he could feel the familiar lure of sleep pulling him closer.

The night was still when she felt her eyes slowly blink open. Jon, smelling of fresh soaps and linen, grounded her, the complete stillness of his body a comfort as she knew he remained asleep, his lips blowing out his breath against the back of her neck like a sigh.

Sansa stirred, moving to untangle the shift that had bunched around her thighs, and she felt Jon exhale, long and low. She could feel his hips pressed against hers, the budding pressure against her back seeming to build with every passing moment, only worsening when she moved.

It is only then that she was reminded that he was not just Jon, not just the boy she had once known playing with wooden sword in the yard of Winterfell. He was a man.

Jon’s legs pressed to the backs of hers in a tangle beneath the heavy furs and as she shifted she could feel him follow, the unconscious movement bringing his hips after hers. It is awkward, the way sleep has brought his darkest desire to fruition, and yet he fits against her as nothing else ever has, the hand that curled against her waist only tightening.

A barely there thrust followed, the movement making her utter a small gasp that seemed to rouse Jon from his sleep. A lengthy pause followed before Jon moved backward, muttering a curse under his breath as he separated himself from the tangle of her body.

He could feel her hands move to wrap around him, nails digging into the backs of his hips. She had stilled him. A soft, sleepy moan escaped from her lips, slicing the darkness like a blade.

When she had first taken to his chambers after dark he had slept long and uneasy in the chair beside the fire while she burrowed in the furs on his bed. But it was not long until she asked him, her voice low and quavering, if he might stay with here. _There_.

Sansa felt him beside her, frozen stiff in more ways than one. It was an affliction all men must endure in darkness but he did not move, cock stiff and pressed firm to her back.

She did not fall back into sleep and neither did he, his mind preoccupied with the thoughts of his arousal and whether or not she was awake to feel it. He was a man after all and yet he felt once more like a green boy, aching to palm himself off in the cold darkness. But she was asleep and at least he can take solace in knowing his shame was his and his alone.

After a few minutes of quiet, his breathing evened and his heaving chest quieted, but the pressure Sansa felt at her back did not alleviate. The moonlight streaming through the window had not lessened, the quiet of the night stretching across the chamber like grasping fingers, muting any noise that dare sneak through.

She turned her head to face him, finding his dark eyes unblinking as they stared at her, and she pressed her lips to his. His lips were warm and still, unmoving as she pressed herself closer to him. His hands found her shoulders and he pushed her backwards, the words that formed on his lips seeming stale and forced. “You don’t…”

Her head bobbed. “I know.”

Jon’s eyes were on her and for the first time he allowed his mouth to find hers again. They need not hide now, need not squirrel away the sound and fury that passed between them and hide their affection so deep within that to any other it resembled friction.

But in the darkness of their chambers she had found him. They had lain side by side for many nights before he had turned upon his side and laid his arm tentatively across her middle. She had not moved, so much so that he thought she might have fallen asleep, despite the uneasiness of her breath and the way her hands were clutched like fists within the sheets. She had eased into his arms, letting her head fall upon his shoulder and her legs entwined with his.

It had become like a dance they had, each night retiring to separate chambers, each morning awakening together instead of alone. Only the guards at his door knew the secret they shared, lying blanketed in stillness and darkness.

Jon’s hand snaked across her front to curl around her neck, guiding her head as he pressed his lips more fully against hers, the gentle scratch of his unshorn beard reddening her skin. His hand pushed against the flat of her trembling belly, warm even through the linen gown. With his free hand his callused fingers traced the strip of her shoulder that had come free when her nightshift had slid down, pinned beneath their bodies and the featherbed.

Sansa felt emboldened by the movements, throwing her hips backward, the way his hips followed suit on their own accord making Jon gasp long and low. Sansa felt his hips buck against hers again, half wild with the desire to continue the friction, though it was clear that he was still holding himself back. “Jon.” she whispered, her voice heady with desire. “I want you to. I want to.”

He looked at her, the rough skin of his thumb brushing against her cheek before lowering to her half swollen lips. He had thought desire was his own burden, the longing to rip open her nightdress making his cheeks burn scarlet, but as his eyes found her parted lips and felt her fumbling hands, he knew the lust was shared.

Her palm flattened against the pressure building at the base of his breeches and she felt him blow out a breath against the back of her neck, a shiver rippling through her at the contact. He let out a quavering moan, whatever hesitation that might have once overtaken him seeming to vanish.

His hips jutted forward, grating against her arse. Their mouths were wild and their kisses uneven, lips leaving hot, wet kisses on every inch of each other’s face that could be reached. Her hips rolled backwards, falling backward against him so that she could feel the greatening pressure of his cock against her. His hand had risen around the base of her neck, her skin softer than any silk, the lip he ran his thumb across soft as a rose petal.

It was almost like a dream, like the way she was moving against him was only in fantasy instead of right before him. His free hand was pulling at the laces of her nightshift, her breath a pant as she moved against him; careful to set a pace she knew he could follow. They would against each other like willows billowing in wind, his hand rough as he palmed her breast, his fingers brushing across her hardening nipples.

Her lips were sore and tired but Sansa would sooner allow the Stranger to devour her before she released herself from his kiss. His touch was different than any she had ever known before, his grip strong but gentle- the knowledge firm in her mind that he would never hurt her.

For months she had felt the security of his arms, the knowledge that he would not allow any harm to befall her. The greatest pain she had ever felt when pressed to his chest was the fear that soon she would be unable. Surely he would marry eventually, perhaps to the Dragon Queen who ruled throughout Westeros, his aunt if the rumour were true.

There were hundreds of maidens who would die to marry a prince, especially one so handsome as Jon. She had once been in love with a prince and had promised never to fall under the lure again…But Jon’s arms were so strong and the lips he pressed to her brow so soft and the way his lips twitched in a smile only she could see so sweet.

“We-“ Jon began. His voice was breathy, lustful. “We don’t have to-“

“Hush, Jon.” she returned.

The laces of her shift had come undone, Jon’s hand flush against her bare skin, his fingers callused and rough. Her hips pushed backward, feeling him move in return, the stiffness of his cock hard against her back. He moaned, his breath rushing out against the back of her neck, the hair she had long ago unbraided falling over her shoulders.

He held her tight in his arms, bracing her body against his own. The desire between them was palpable, Sansa pulled so flush against him that she could feel every movement of his from head to foot, so deep that she could feel even his breath. His tongue ran across the side of his neck and Sansa whispered a soft moan, his breath warm and his tongue as hot as the pressure building at the base of her thighs.

He could feel her stomach trembling beneath his palm. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had wanted to court her, to bring her flowers and smile when he saw her cheeks redden, not rut against her in the darkness like some animal.

Sansa moaned softly, feeling Jon’s fingers palming at her breasts, pressing her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. The sheets smelled of him as they writhed together, the furs shoved aside so the only thing that covered them from a rush of cool air was the sweat that had begun to bead at their skin.

Sansa’s lips parted to allow Jon’s tongue to run across her bottom lip, her nerves singing at the pleasure of his touch. She could feel him moving against her, the dull grind of his hips against her arse making him moan into the shell of her ear. She had never imagined they would end up like this, not only wrapped in each other’s arms but in each other’s bodies.

Her fingers ached to touch him, wishing she had more hands to run across his body. She could feel the pull and tightening of muscle beneath the tunic she felt him pull over his head, the arms that wrapped around her tight and heavy with the weight of their muscle.

Jon let out a gasp and Sansa knew he was close, the sound pushed into her mouth as she kissed him. With every touch of her fingers he felt as though he was being singed with fire. His hand had gone to her hip, pulling her against him, feeling her back arch to allow her hips to push backward.

He could feel pleasure bubbling up within him, every fibre in his body pulling so spectacularly tight it was as though he would snap. He could feel his orgasm rising, his movements becoming sharper and wilder with every passing second as he rutted against her.

He was holding himself back, she realized, turning to him. She wonders if he is thinking of his vows, of the way he had abandoned his post on the wall because of Ramsay’s letter. She almost managed a smirk at the thought that he truly _was_ a sword in the darkness. But the thought remained that he was holding himself back from the peak his body clearly sought.

Sansa reached back to pull his hips towards her, feeling every inch of his aching cock against her. “Jon.” she whispered, giving him the same familiar, pointed look that she often gave him as they discussed strategy during the days. Her head fell back to rest between his shoulder and neck, her tongue drawing out to drag across the line of his jaw. “ _Jon_.”

She could feel his peak pull through every inch of his body, from the leg that had wrapped around hers, to the twitch of his jaw as he kissed her. The way he moaned made her stomach tighten, the heat at the base of her thighs seeming to grow tenfold.

He held her tight as his hips twitched, once, twice, almost more than he could bear. He could feel his breeches loosen, the hands he had placed on her hips suddenly seeming awkward.

He was brought back to earth quickly, the daze the feel of her body had brought over his suddenly lessening. This was Sansa. _Sansa_. In the dark recesses of his mind he had always thought…always wondered what it would be like to have her. But to truly have her? He never would have thought of it.

“I…” he started. He did not know where he was headed. He did not know what to say. “I-“

Sansa turned to face him in the bed, resting a hand upon his chest in a way that had always stopped him before. Her eyes were so light upon his that it was nearly startling. Her shift was still undone, her nipples pebbled in the cold air, her legs entangled by his own. His cock had resolved its tension, but as her hips pressed to his own when she moved to lay his arms around his neck he could almost feel it twitch in response.

Sansa pressed her lips to his softly, the way her face had heated in a blush that seemed to go all the way to her ears making Jon smile softly. She cupped his cheek, rubbing her thumb across his lips. Certainly she had to be feeling the way his cock was stiffening in response to her touch. “I’m sorry I didn’t…”

She pressed a finger to his lips, allowing her eyes to slip lazily over his face. “I told you I wanted to.” Said she, lifting her leg over his, her thigh brushing against the head of his breeches. “I meant it, Jon.”

“But…” he began, feeling foolish. She felt good in his arms, the way she had leaned up on her elbows so that she could kiss him properly. “You didn’t…” he said pointedly, blushing like a green boy. “I mean…I did but you… _didn’t_.”

Sansa smirked, laying a kiss flat on his mouth. “There will be plenty of time for that.”


End file.
